To Die A Little
by kangeiko
Summary: After Anya stumbles on the remnants of a powerful spell, Xander and Willow investigate and find more than they bargained for. Not nearly as dark a fic as the title implies. Xander / Anya, Giles / Ethan, Willow / Tara.


TITLE: TO DIE A LITTLE

DISCLAIMER: They belong to Joss, UPN et al.

SUMMARY: Set during the Season 4/5 hiatus. After Anya stumbles on the remnants of a powerful spell, Xander and Willow investigate and find more than they bargained for. Not nearly as dark a fic as the title implies.

PAIRINGS: Giles/Ethan, Xander/Anya.

RATING: strong R.

THANKS TO: My wonderful beta readers. You know who you are.

NOTES:

1. "The Colour of Magic" is a book by Terry Pratchett, a British fantasy author.

2. The book on Chaos Magic Theory mentioned is "Liber Kaos" by Peter Carroll. I'm still struggling with the beginning (& trying to decide how it compares to a worldview shaped by Hawking's "A Brief History of Time") so I can neither recommend nor warn against it. It seems pretty comprehensive, although it does tend to take itself completely seriously (which even Hawking never did).

3. Stuck for a title, I came across a little extract from a rather pretty poem; I've included it at the end because otherwise the title won't make any sense (unless you have an idea of what a 'little death' means, and then you can join me in the gutter). Funnily enough, this story is not meant to be depressing, but then, I couldn't bring myself to write anything overly cheerful, either. This is as close to a happy end as I can bring myself to write for this 'ship, kiddies.

Revised: 13/05/03

Xander was not entirely sure why Anya had dragged him outside the city limits when he was supposed to be working, forcing him to call in sick. This, however, was not unusual because he was never entirely sure why Anya did most things. It wasn't normally a problem.

"Anya, why are we here?" Direct. Nice.

She flashed him a blinding smile, on her knees in the dirt, digging around. "Because I asked you to come here with me."

"Is it… is it for sex?" He could believe that. Hell, he could forgive her a missed work day for that. And out here, under the open sky… he looked around. Yeah, this would be a great place. They'd just have to check out the thick foliage around for possible poison ivy and other nasty herbs and they'd be all set. "Way to go, Anya!"

To his great surprise, she shot him an irritated look. "No, it's not for sex! Well," her face softened, "it's not now." She pushed aside the thick growth of a shrub to peer underneath it. "No, nothing. Damn."

"Um, Anya?" Xander squatted next to her on the ground, peering at her quizzically. "Did I mention that humans don't generally scavenge anymore? I mean," he amended, "out of choice. We have a wonderful thing called a 'supermarket'…"

"I came here yesterday," Anya said without even looking at him. "I was looking for a herb that can be used as an aphrodisiac – you know how you get tired after work and –"

"Hey!" Xander felt more than a bit affronted. Sure, ok, fine, sometimes he felt too tired for sex, but that didn't require herbal Viagra, for crying out loud.

"That's not the point. So, I was looking for that, and that was when I felt it." She looked at him then, eyes narrowed. Her cheeks always dimpled whenever she was worried; why hadn't he noticed that before? "Don't you feel it right now?"

All of a sudden he did. Told that he should be feeling something, immediately his skin started to itch, millions of little legs walking all over him, an army of invisible ants. His skin felt too small for his body. "Oh – oh, God. Anya –" he'd fallen back and was sitting on the ground now, careless of the mud – "high creep factor and rising, Anya. What the hell is that?"

"Remnants. Forgotten cobwebs." That wasn't Anya's voice. Xander knew Anya's voice and that wasn't it. This was somehow older, angrier. It was the voice of Anyanka.

Xander shivered.

Anya pulled apart the grass in front of him, and he saw it then – a small stone, polished, unnatural here. Added later.

Lifting her chin to indicate the other end of the clearing, "I found one on the other side as well. I think someone had set up a pentagram here… that or a ritual circle, something. Something with power. Something that affected him or her enough not to do a Banishing and clear this place."

The words sounded strange to Xander, non-demon and non-witch that he was. He recalled Willow talking to him about a bit of it, mainly the Banishing before and after spells, the careful preservation of the components of certain spells afterwards. And someone strong enough to make Xander's skin crisp up into itself had left these stones behind and not cleaned up after him- or herself. What could have gone so wrong that they'd leave so quickly? What could have disrupted the rite so badly?

"Something went wrong," he said, looking around absently. Anya wasn't even looking at him, sitting on the ground and playing with the stone. Savouring the power of it, no doubt. Magic gone bad – an ex-demon's snapshot of home.

Xander shuddered. "We need to disappear, Anya. C'mon." Yet he stayed sitting. "Something high on the 'bad' scale happened here." He sighed. "Once more, the town with the most fun."

Anya shook her head and stood. "Something strong. Not necessarily bad. It could have just been a very powerful spell…"

"…Yes, and do we know any 'fluffy' powerful sorcerers?" That made sense. And so did asking someone who'd know better. "Let's get Willow and Tara. They'll know their way around here…" And I don't want you dabbling in this, he thought but did not say.

There was a note of pleading in his voice he wasn't even aware of; when Anya looked back at him her entire face paled and she stared forwards, grabbing him and dragging him to one side. "Bad place to be. Bad, Xander, that's the spot where things went wrong – didn't you feel it?" Without waiting for a response she dragged him out of the clearing, stumbling over the shrubbery on the way, careless of the scratches on her legs.

Xander's face tightened into a rictus of distress. He had felt it. But Anya still kept her grip on the smooth stone, on the power left in it. And he didn't want her here. Not at all.

They returned later that afternoon, Willow and Tara in tow, carrying candles and incense and other things wrapped in little bags that Xander neither knew the name of nor cared about. Anya walked beside him calmly, calmly, still clutching the stone she had found. Something acidic poured itself down Xander's throat, churning in his gut and trying to encourage dry heaving. He held back the impulse, staring fixedly ahead instead.

It hadn't mattered when they had returned from the clearing in the morning, Anya caressing the stone as if it were alive. He had thought her fascinated with it at first, some small spark of hope against the pressing glut of mortality. Something to fan into life – something magical, if not monstrous. Still some small echo of the divine, or of the unholy… did it really matter?

All through lunchtime she had stroked it, long fingers curling over it again and again, impossibly pale against the dark grain of the stone. Xander, holding out his hand for it – just to see it, just to touch it himself – was stared at, pushed away. Her power. Her magic. He was suddenly just another man pushing into her world and disturbing all the things she had set up.

By the time they had found Willow and Tara, Anya had given up the pretence of simply looking after the stone. She no longer carried it in her pocket but in her hand, fist clenched tightly over it as if afraid someone might try to magic it away. She had to be coaxed to let Willow and Tara even near it, but when they came close enough…

"Giles, Anya found something. Something… very powerful. Almost addictive. I think we need to check it out. Can you come?"

No, Giles could not come. No, Giles was too busy to come. Or, no, Giles wanted to see how much Willow could do on her own. Well, with Tara's help, at least.

A witch working alone was a bad thing Giles had said, again and again, usually after one of Willow's spells went awry. A witch working alone could falter and there would be no one there to help her. A witch working alone was vulnerable, especially with the low magic they had been forced to use so often.

Low Magic, High Magic… Xander didn't understand a word of it, only that when asking about the 'Colour of Magic', half-jokingly, Willow had become brittle and Giles even more so. Strange, because the book had been given to him by Giles years ago when he had been looking for something funny to write a report on; stranger, because when it came to trying to teach him something both Willow and Giles were usually bubbling over with enthusiasm. Well, Willow at least, and Xander wasn't too sure about Giles. But this…

A witch should never work on her own, Xander's brain chanted in Giles's voice, it's dangerous, irresponsible and think of the things that could go wrong.

Then Tara had come along and Willow had stopped working with Giles and started smiling shyly and disappearing off for spells. Hard spells. Complicated spells. Spells that scared Xander and made him not want to know any more. He didn't want his best friend doing things like that, not in the least. Not at all.

At least he would be here now when she did whatever it is they'd have to do. Willow had seemed reasonably confident after Giles's refusal that she and Tara would work something out, even that she might be able to manage the spell on her own. All parties had vetoed that idea, but Xander still wondered. Wondered what Willow thought about, dreamed about, aspired to. What does a witch want out of life, apart from another witch to share spells and a bed with? Xander's brain ran short of ideas; he wasn't entirely sure that the ones he had were the right ones, anyway.

Still. It was Willow. His friend; still child-like in her own way. And didn't angels watch over them all?

He fervently hoped so.

"Oh." Tara, her arms pulled back in that peculiarly vulnerable posture that Xander was sure must give her horrible back pain. She turned, as if checking the clearing for a possible threat.

Smart thing to do, Xander thought somewhat belatedly, and did the same. Nothing. Still, it couldn't hurt to be sure.

"Oh. It's here." She continued looking around, finally fixing her eyes on Willow desperately. "Isn't it? I- I- I- mean, I can feel it. A remnant… someone didn't do a Banishing."

She made it sound like they hadn't washed the plates up after the meal, which Xander supposed was a good analogy. Lecture upon lecture and he still didn't understand the true purpose of the Banishing, settling instead for the more mundane, 'it clears the place for other stuff'. Someone forgot to empty the clearing of whatever energy they had conjured up.

He didn't need witchy powers to know that, Xander thought. His skin was already beginning to crawl, invisible ants and spiders and things that bit and scratched already crawling over every inch of his skin.

Something was still here. And it was … displaced, somehow.

Everyone turned to look at the stone still firmly clutched in Anya's trembling hand.

Willow took a step closer to Anya. Xander was distinctly relieved that she did so, because he wasn't entirely sure that he could move here… now. Thought itself seemed hard, and the expression on Anya's face scared him beyond words. She wanted this. She needed this. What could he provide for her that magic could not?

"Anya. Give me the stone." Willow voice was level. "Give me the stone, Anya."

There was a long pause while Anya regarded the stone she still clutched and then looked up to stare at Xander somewhat desperately, as if hoping he would intervene on her behalf. Tara waited in the wings, silent and unnoticed except by Willow, no doubt, who somehow managed to get between her and Anya, preventing eye-contact, preventing Anya from appealing to the other witch. The message was clear - magic was not for her. Certainly not someone else's magic. Certainly not when it was this strong.

Anya looked at Xander and mouthed something he didn't understand. Something like, "please," or "perhaps," or maybe just "pathetic!" and he still couldn't reply to her. Could do nothing except force his body to step a little closer despite the pressing of something onto his consciousness, the urge not to move, not to think….

One second, two, and Anya handed the stone to Willow, linking her eyes to Xander's. Willow promptly dropped it back in the approximate place of its last position, but Xander was beyond noticing. Because Anya had handed Willow the stone back.

He didn't know to which God he should be thankful.

The spell itself drained Tara almost completely. It was an effect on their environment -- a conjuration of things past -- and Tara was simply not used to working sorcery, Willow explained to Xander in hushed tones. They normally did High Magic.

Xander nodded as if he understood the difference between High Magic and any kind and went back to simply looking at Anya, who sat just inside the ritual circle Tara and Willow had constructed, as far as possible from the place of power. He didn't know why she did that or why the sudden change made him uneasy. He'd ask later. Anya was nothing if not outspoken.

"Maybe she should go home."

That brought his attention back. "Anya? Oh. Sorry. Tara, yes. Um… how's she doing?" Tara seemed fine to him. A bit drawn, he supposed, but he guessed that was because of the 'something' that had gone through both the women upon the completion of the spell. He wondered when the spell would take effect… Willow had said that it might take awhile; apparently magic was not an exact science. Xander felt vaguely disappointed to discover that magic didn't involve awesome unlimited power.

"Okay, I think. She's just tired. A bit drained. And we don't know what we'll find once the spell takes effect." Willow pushed her hair out of her face and lowered her voice. "I just… don't want her in any danger."

Xander nodded, understanding and agreeing and wondering how he could convince Anya to go with Tara. That was when things changed.

The glade was still a glade, but it wasn't a happy glade. There was a buzz of bees' wings, the throb of distant running water and someone chanting far away. Abruptly, things twisted and then straightened out again. Xander glared, startled and dismayed, at the figure that now occupied the centre of the clearing.

Ethan Rayne. Had they really expected anyone else? Well… yes. But Xander wasn't too surprised. He'd heard of the trouble Ethan had caused, and it was obvious that he'd done something bad here, something worse than before. Something that had maybe gone wrong? Xander didn't think Ethan was the type to make mistakes when it came to magic, but he wasn't betting on anything anymore. Not when Anya's hands still curled over and stroked a stone that she no longer held.

The solitary candle in front of Ethan sat unlit, waiting, perhaps, for the ritual to begin. Xander's nails bit into his palms and he forced his hands to unclench. There'd be time for fists later.

The spell spattered, choked and threw itself forwards; Giles came out of nowhere, one hand clenching around Ethan's neck from behind.

Okay. Maybe time for fists now. Maybe time for death now, because a neck could be snapped so easily from that position… although not when you suddenly squatted behind the person. Not when you leaned in close and snarled in his ear. Why, you'd get blood spattered on you, maybe, hear that last choked exhalation. Disgraceful.

Giles's hands – kind, gentle hands that had applied bandages and cleaned wounds more than once – were tight on Ethan's neck and shoulders and the sorcerer choked for breath. Kind, gentle Giles, the one Xander knew he could rely on, squeezing the life out of someone, and all of a sudden there was something else in the air, something that made Ethan's expression tighten with anticipation. And Xander stared.

That wasn't Giles. He had seen Giles violent – against Ethan, even – it had never been like this. That wasn't Giles. That wasn't Giles because Giles would never do that. Would he?

He wasn't even aware of having spoken the words aloud, but – maybe. Maybe.

"Uhuh. Maybe." And Anya's obviously thinking the same thing, taking a step back and curling fingers over an imaginary stone. "Maybe."

Willow gritted her teeth and Xander glanced over at her with concern. Any fool could tell that Willow didn't want Tara to see what's next. Tara could feel it, though – hell, even Xander could feel it, and he had never exactly been attuned to these things. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what's –

Giles raised his fist ever so calmly and drove it into Ethan's face, holding him firmly by his collar. Xander flinched, almost closing his eyes, but –

A flash, purple and purpling, matching Ethan's bruise while Giles simply held him as if afraid he'll disappear if he let go.

Xander blinked. What was going on here, hurt or comfort? He didn't want to entertain the idea of both – he didn't want Tara and Anya to witness either, actually; now that he thinks on it only him, Buffy and Willow have seen this, maybe Cordelia, possibly Angel, but that's different, that's very, very different and did Anya really need to see this?

"Tara, why don't you, um… go. I'll, I'll finish up here and –" Willow, looking everywhere but the scene in front of her.

"But –" Tara, concerned for Willow – and maybe Willow shouldn't be here either; she's as young as him but Xander's A Guy, that means something, right?

Not now. Not when Willow had to be the one to end the spell and Tara's eyes were as large as saucers as Giles nuzzled Ethan's cheek and stroked his flanks. Willow's blurting out something about coping, about finishing the spell alone and Giles's hand raked down and Ethan cried out --

"Tara, go." There was unfamiliar steel in Willow's tone that made Xander wonder, as he had previously gently questioned what it was, precisely, that Tara and Willow did together and was hot sex involved in any way? Shut up, Xander, I'm not talking about that, and now it was obvious why.

The trees shimmered and groaned, simultaneously upset at the tear in reality and pleased at the energy radiating from the couple inside it.

Xander turned to look at the spell again and was rewarded by the previously unimagined view of Ethan kissing Giles as if he was afraid they would both melt away into nothingness otherwise, bruising Giles's mouth, all teeth and wetness and tongue. "Oh God," Xander said in another man's voice.

He was only dimly aware of Anya saying something about walking Tara back, then unceremoniously grabbing her hand and dragging her backwards, out of the circle and out of the glade and he really should be thinking about them, but he wasn't, because Giles had kissed Ethan back, his hands tightening on Ethan's throat.

Something stirred. "He's going to kill him," and Xander wondered why that troubled him so much. It wasn't the thought of Ethan dead, but of Giles killing someone –

"He won't. Shhhh." Then Willow blinked next to him, and obviously had second thoughts. "Xander, maybe you should go with Tara and Anya. You know, I can cope here –"

Ethan's shirt was suddenly off, and Xander wasn't going anywhere.

He'd seen Ethan before, but it had only been for a few minutes, and it had been when Ethan was looking at Giles, yes, exactly like that, like he was daring him to do something dark and violent and unspeakably lewd. And Giles had grabbed a handful of Ethan's hair and hoisted him up and Xander had wondered if he had known Giles at all.

Now… now Giles was looking at Ethan the exact same way and licking his lips and tightening his hands into fists. And Ethan's back, the soft, soft skin there, was bruised and cut and scarred by a myriad pale, delicate lines, like someone had thrown him really hard against a strainer… or had opened him up slowly, carefully, systematically, so the skin would still be that soft.

This, and more, because Giles's hands travelled downward over that scarred skin, and Xander made himself think about looking away.

The flash and surge of the spell took him by surprise and he stumbled slightly, shaking his head. Real time did not work here and right now this was a Good Thing, because things went from Ethan and Giles, fists raised to do some serious damage, to sometime later. Xander, frankly, didn't care how much later it was, only that Ethan's lip was cut open and that Giles was going to have a nasty bruise develop on the left side of his rib cage. All that, however, was background information, because Xander's skin was humming as he watched and tried to look away.

It's too much for him, he knew. It's too much, he's too young and he doesn't understand the power here. He wondered if Willow did, then felt her hand close over his arm and thought not. She's just as shocked and discomforted and more than a little frighteningly aroused as him, because that there was Ethan Rayne kneeling on the grass, and Xander could see that his knees were muddy, whether from the dew or from something else entirely he couldn't tell. He doesn't even want to think about that, because Ethan's on his knees and he's just wearing trousers, open at the crotch. Giles – can he call him Giles? Who is that person? – knelt opposite him, and there's something unwholesome, unholy, unbearable in those eyes. Twin pairs of hands, palms upwards with shallow crisscrossing cuts over them, and Xander watched Ethan's back as he breathed and hiccupped and spoke and something went through him, lighting him up from the inside.

Ethan's scars were glowing.

Deep, shallow, healed, scabbed; all of them lit up from within and Xander could smell it and oh, so could Giles, because he was leaning forward, licking his lips in anticipation. And Xander knew that wasn't Giles, knew that couldn't be Giles, because Giles has never bitten his lip like that in the promise of future violence, Giles has never looked at a man like that, and Giles would never ever do anything that made Ethan Rayne writhe with pleasure and light up from the inside.

Willow looked away, her hand digging into Xander's forearm, trying to coax him away. But he couldn't leave. Not right now. Not when Giles had joined in the chanting and why had he never realised that Latin could be so delicious?

"Xander, don't look."

"Willow," but he wasn't thinking her name. He was just saying it, a reflex to get her to shut up so he could concentrate on Giles's lilting chant and on Ethan's breathing, on his heavy hiccupped moans. "Willow. Willowwillowwillowwillow—"

"Xander don't look at them, it's wrong--"

He got the impression that she wasn't talking about the sex, or even about the fact that the supposedly quiet librarian evidently had a voracious sexual appetite that extended beyond techno pagan computer teachers. He'd wager that it had something to do with Giles walking in on a spell and disrupting it, or changing it, or … or whatever it was that he was doing now.

"-- and that's Ethan Rayne—"

Possibly that was the other part of the unease; Willow was a witch, she had explained to him many times, a wizard, a witch, whatever – whatever Ethan Rayne was – not a Chaos-worshipping one, however. And Xander had asked about the difference and had received a book about Chaos and the Magical Quotient of the universe and had wondered why he'd even bothered.

"-- and Giles--"

Who was doing things he'd obviously told Willow never to attempt. Was this why?

"-- and they're magicking something up!"

Oh, Willow. Xander wasn't worried about that at all. Giles was safe and alive and busy ignoring their calls, and who really cared what happened to Ethan? And the sex…

Faintly scandalous, or at least that's how it sounded to Xander. For Willow, more immune to the novelty of this – and who'd want to be? – it was probably shocking in its audacity. Probably. Why ignore it?

Sharp nails in his arm and she was trying to drag him around to face her, but Willow was no match for him in physical strength. He stayed.

"I know." And he did. And he didn't give a shit.

Another flash, scorching the inside of Xander's eyelids. He shrugged Willow off completely and let himself sink back onto the ground, legs crossed underneath him, lips parted. He was only dimly aware of Willow finally turning to look at the ritual properly, and then … silence.

It was a strong spell. It wound itself about the pair of men, both now clad only in mostly-open trousers, hands scratching at each other's throats.

It was annoying that they'd skipped forwards so much, it occurred to Xander, because he couldn't tell whether they were fighting or… or doing something else.

Ethan reached up and wrapped long fingers around Giles's face, bringing his head down so he could bite his exposed neck viciously. Giles responded by a growling sound Xander felt pool in his stomach, and then long-fingered hands were inside Ethan's trousers and Ethan was bucking up and there was an unbearable smell of musk and sandalwood… sex and magic.

Oh, yeah. Definitely something else.

Another flash, stronger this time. There was the faint burn of ashy sandalwood, of men and of sex. All of a sudden Xander didn't want to watch anymore than Willow did, but it was too late. There was no turning around now – not when there was this to see –

Ethan's mouth, usually curled around a witty report, or darkened with blood from Giles's left hook, was wrapped firmly around Giles's cock.

Xander's brain hurt. He gripped his left kneecap in response, thumb circling nervously. He had an inkling that he was going to need years of therapy to recover from this. His grip on his kneecap intensified and he wondered about looking away.

Things changed again.

The hair on the back of Xander's neck prickled, standing on end, making him shiver. His body was screaming for him to look at that, just look at that – was that even possible? – he had never thought either of them would do that to the other –

Oh, but they did.

Scars glowed hot on Ethan's body as Giles traced runes on his bare back, sweat dripping down his chest and plastering his hair to his forehead in damp curls. This hurt, it was obvious; it hurt Ethan, whose thin-lipped mouth was twisted into a grimace of pain and of forbearance because it hurt Giles too, and Giles still continued. Bare-handed he dragged fingertips over Ethan's flesh, wincing at the contact as if the scarred skin hurt him.

Ethan screamed, and again, and Xander couldn't tell whether it was from pain or from pleasure or whether right now there was a difference.

Some small part of him insisted that he didn't want to watch this. He had wanted to find this out on my own -- this particular kind of ecstasy, the kind that was so good it hurt but damnit, you weren't going to stop until you fucking came --

No time for that now. The spell shifted again, and so did Willow, her hands making sigils against the onslaught.

Too late. Because –

Giles's face, intensity and concentration and a sweet kind of sadism that made you wonder if it really was Giles under that skin.

Ethan's face, and Xander had never liked Ethan, but right now he could appreciate him. Not Giles, never Giles, because Giles was someone, something, sacrosanct and inviolate. It wasn't Giles. But it was Ethan, and it was power tightening in him, screaming for an outlet. Ethan's face… the smirk was gone, a kind of hush settling.

Xander opened his eyes and felt the burn continue behind his eyelids.

Not-Giles sighed and his eyes shuttered closed. The spell shifted again, almost spilling the sounds of the next scene into this silent image.

Xander wished he had kept his eyes closed.

"Be with me. Be in me –" yes, he could lip-read that plea well, and Giles smiled in response and arched over Ethan and so did the spell.

"Janus!"

The last flash – the last shift – scorched through him, heating him through in places he only felt when a fever consumed him and he cast about, delirious, for something to hold on to. That thing was a bright red light now and Xander stretched his hands out, trying to catch it. It danced away from him and back into the image, back into the spell, because some part of it was the spell. It was finishing, wrapping itself up, bringing itself off, whatever the fuck you called what Ethan was doing at that moment as Giles watched and cast sigils and laughed, laughed like this was something he had never expected to enjoy.

Perhaps he hadn't. Xander fervently wished that it were so.

The aftermath was an ice-cream headache that made Xander grit his teeth in response. Reality was trying to stitch itself together again and it didn't like the ant-person called Xander Harris that was trying to straddle both streams of it. The fact that ant-person Willow was doing the same – had, indeed, created the rip – and was being pointedly ignored did not strike Xander as being particularly fair. A butt monkey again… one of these days, Xander was sure, the universe would go too far. But not today. Because today he watched Giles climb naked to his feet, exhausted, drained…. And sated like a lion in the midday sun after doing what he likes best.

Was this what Giles liked best? Violence, magic and bizarre sex rituals with Ethan? Xander seriously doubted that this particular ritual had come out of any spell-book. Making things more fun - he hadn't expected it of Giles. Which he should have, he knew. Giles knew his stuff. He could modify spells if he wanted to. And Ethan certainly would. But why this? Why hot, sweaty, painful sex in a grassy glade with the wind biting into their bare skin?

"Willow?" His voice sounded alien to his ears.

She stirred. "Ethan… must have used the… the… sex - the energy - to enhance the ritual."

Xander nodded absently and continued to watch. Yes, it was an Ethan thing to do, from what little he knew of the man. Watching him come does not an acquaintance make, he realised, but watching Ethan build on that… now, that was an interesting experience.

The afterglow was, well, glowing. Scars skittered across Ethan's pale back as if jostling for space and finding none. Xander was uncomfortably reminded of spiders' legs, trying to find somewhere to put all of them and failing.

One by one, the runes disappeared. And Ethan healed.

His scars faded until they could not be seen; his torso filled out as Giles's thinned slightly.

"I've never seen that before," from Willow.

Xander was not entirely sure if he was able to vocalise anything yet. "Really? Mad naked monkey sex in the middle of the wood comes as a surprise? Really, Willow…" No, he evidently couldn't, something for which he was strangely grateful because he also sounded like Giles in his head.

This was a good thing because Giles no longer sounded like Giles. Giles didn't purr like that and Giles most certainly did not lick the still wet, slick, purpling bruises on the small of his enemy's back.

Something fearful tore loose in Xander, making every nerve in his body scream with the need to leave, leave now, and fuck the consequences.

"Willow --!"

He wondered if she heard the panic in his voice. In any case, an instant later Willow was chanting something and the scene in front of them was shifting, melting into the background. Xander saw Ethan reach up to kiss Giles fiercely and then he saw nothing at all.

The glade murmured fitfully to Xander as he gasped for air, shimmering and twisting and trying to right itself. The spell completed itself with a soft audible 'pop' and then all was still.

Xander panted for breath, only half-aware that he was on his hands and knees and keening slightly. He craned his neck to look at Willow, who had also collapsed and was also making an unidentifiable and painful-sounding noise. The grass seemed to crackle beneath Xander's fingers, sing and hum and vibrate and all other things he had never noticed before and never wanted to know. It knew, he realised. The grass knew, and the trees knew and the soil knew and by God, the creatures in the earth most certainly knew that something powerful had been interrupted here. And now Xander, normal, magic-blind Xander, knew as well.

No wonder Anya had been both repulsed by and drawn to this place. Something was dragging bare nails down Xander's back and he wasn't entirely sure how to get the sensation to stop, or even if he wanted to. "Willow?" His voice sounded rusty. He straightened painfully, ignoring the creaking in his joints. "Willow?"

"Uh." Willow hiccupped. "Uh. Yeah. Ooooooh, boy." She was marking out sigils with her right hand and trying to keep herself sitting up with her left.

Xander could sympathise; his head was still spinning. "Willow?" Again, more intimate a question than it would suggest.

She knew, of course, what he was asking. "We didn't finish. They didn't finish –"

Somehow, Xander couldn't find it in himself to be sorry that he'd missed seeing that.

"—and I'm not sure we'd understand what happened anyway. It was pretty…" She paused and thought. "Improvised."

Some small remnant of the old Xander struggled to the fore. "You mean that's not in that big book Tara carries around with her all the time? Willow, I'm disappointed." He couldn't make himself believe it, or even sound vaguely interested. He would have been normally, he knew, but this was not normal. Not in his view. Sex was fine. Magic was fine. Ethan was – occasionally – fine. However, he didn't really want to think about all three of them together, especially not when they involved Giles.

Willow graced him with a look that could have been used to dry out Martinis and slowly, painfully, climbed to her feet. "Purple magic – sex magic – is not used for everyday spells," she explained. "It's strong and usually not very precise. Or controllable. Or, well, comfortable." At Xander's puzzled look, "well, you have to be comfortable with the person to do that with them. You can't just, you know, have an orgy."

"And again with the Giles and orgies connection. I am so not enjoying this."

"You know what I mean," Willow said impatiently. She walked over to Xander unsteadily and helped him stand up, fingers stroking the inside of his arm. Xander held his breath. "I just think that… well, the spell wouldn't have worked if Ethan and Giles hadn't done that before."

"That?" Xander wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"You know." An uncomfortable look. "Sex."

Oh, yeah. He didn't want to know. "Okay, that was definitely an over-share, Wills." He braced himself against Willow and struggled to his feet. "Now what?" Don't say we'll talk to Giles, Xander prayed to anyone who was listening. Don't say it…

"Now… I guess we do a Banishing spell here." Xander breathed a sigh of relief. "And then we talk to Giles."

Xander reflected briefly that he was really starting to dislike Ethan Rayne.

They waited expectantly in front of Giles's front door for over five minutes before Xander recalled that he'd only pictured himself knocking on it rather than actually carrying out the action. Willow was watching him curiously and not moving, not saying anything. The dark red splotches of effort in her cheeks were finally fading, over an hour after she had completed the Banishing spell. It had taken a lot out of her to cleanse the area of both the remnants of the spell she had cast and that of Ethan and Giles's … escapades. Yes, that was the word to use, Xander decided. Escapades. Like they were a pair of unruly boys, raising hell for kicks.

The hair on the back of Xander's neck prickled at the thought. Raising hell… hadn't that what Eyghon had been? The memory of scales and sharp teeth skittered in the back of his mind, making him scratch the back of his head involuntarily. The thought of Giles's – or, indeed, Ethan's – normal human face distorted into something so grotesque made him nauseous. This was what wizards and sorcerers did for fun? It made Xander singularly glad to be a thoroughly non-magical person.

Giles chose that moment to open the door. He blinked. "Oh. Hello. I wasn't expecting you."

"Were you going out?" Willow smiled nervously and walked inside past Giles.

Xander followed suit, avoiding eye contact and staying as far away from the older man as possible.

A blink. "Um. No?" He somehow made it sound like a question, discreetly inquiring why the hell they felt the need to be here after he had told them that he was busy.

It occurred to Xander that it was a good question. He wanted to know what they were doing here as well – did Willow really want to ask Giles about his sex life? He wasn't entirely sure whether that would just get them thrown out or, if Willow brought up the subject of Ethan, whether Giles might actually do something violent. It was a thought that was wholly foreign to Xander – gentle, kind Giles, who protected them, who was their friend, raising a hand against them. Then again, him and Ethan were old friends – or old enemies, whatever. And Willow had said that Giles had to have been willing for that spell to work because of the complexity of it.

Xander still could not wrap his mind around a Giles willing to have sex with Ethan Rayne, much less a Giles who was having sex with Ethan Rayne and found it acceptable to beat the man half to death in the process. Or was that foreplay? Xander liked rough sex on occasion, but he'd never actually hit Anya. He wasn't sure what the reaction to him doing something like that would be; he'd always assumed that it would be a swift knee to the groin and a call to the police for assault. Now, he was not so sure. Was this standard in this oh, so modified spell? Or was it simply part of a… a kink?

That was another thing Xander didn't want to think about.

"Um…" Willow sat herself down uninvited and gestured that Xander should do the same. Giles raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, undoubtedly used to his charges making themselves at home. "It's just that you opened the door before we knocked…"

A small shrug. "I was tired of waiting for you to knock. How long were you going to stand out there?"

There was really no doubt in Xander's mind that Giles had known they were outside. What he really didn't want to know was precisely how he'd known they were outside.

Willow obviously had no such qualms. "How did you know?"

Giles sat down next to her on the couch, recapturing the steaming mug of tea he had obviously left on the table to answer the door. He took a sip. "Mmm. Well. It was hard not to. You are both, for lack of a better term, 'buzzing'. I doubt that anyone the least bit acquainted with magic could ignore you."

Xander nodded to this absently and immediately tried to think of a time when Giles had seemed a little not right. A little too bright. A little… off. How had he missed this?

"Oh." Willow looked back at Xander as if needing moral support. He shrugged. She turned back to Giles and took the plunge. "Well, we did the spell. It worked well. Better than well. There was a whole lot of wellness to the spell that worked."

"Uhuh. And what did you find?" Giles raised the mug to his lips.

"Sex," Xander said unthinkingly.

Giles immediately choked on his tea and dropped the mug, scalding liquid dripping down his thighs. "Blast!" He stood up too quickly, backing away from both of them almost involuntarily.

"Oh! Um – tea towel?" Willow looked around for one.

Xander marvelled at his incredibly inept timing. "Sorry about that, Giles. I just… sorry. Um, d'you wanna change? Into, you know, non-soaked clothes?"

Giles paused, looking at them as if sensing that something was wrong. Xander thought that perhaps he did – if he could sense them outside his door, there was no reason for him to not notice that they were both incredibly on edge.

And Xander, watching Giles hold his soaked sweater away from his chest, was suddenly struck by his wrists, which were slender and strong and entirely free of bruises. Almost unbidden, the memory of Ethan's pale hands, almost white with strain, appeared before Xander's suddenly hazy vision. Ethan's hands, tight and angry and scraping nails against skin, wrapped around Giles's wrists.

Gleaming black bruises faded to purple to green to yellow and finally to the lightly tanned colour that was uniquely Giles, free of another's touch.

Evidently the spell had not happened in the last few days and for that, at least, he could be grateful. He wasn't sure how he would be able to talk to Giles, knowing that perhaps only a few hours ago he had been gripping Ethan's throat, forcing him to his knees on the grass.

Thus while Giles nodded silently and escaped upstairs to change, Xander leaned back on the couch and counted as fast as he could to one hundred, praying that he wasn't going to throw up from shock all over Giles's tea-covered coffee-table. He ignored Willow finally discovering a tea-towel and mopping up, he ignored Giles returning and making them all cups of tea with endless spoons of sugar and he ignored the questioning look Giles finally gave him as he came to sit beside him on the couch. He simply closed his eyes and counted and prayed not to throw up.

It shouldn't be this way, he knew. He should trust and care for Giles enough to accept this, whatever it meant. He should tell him the truth.

He knew, instantly, that he did not. That he would not. Not this time. This time, he needed to ask the questions and not give out any answers of his own. And it wasn't for anything that was petty or vindictive or angry, but simply because he needed to understand… and that he wanted Giles to still trust them after this. Still care for them, if only a little bit.

"Anya said it was sex magic," he said at last, watching Giles's face flicker. "But Willow said that it could have been any powerful spell that was… enhanced somehow. Which is lucky, because when Willow and Tara cast that 'door to the past' spell, they found your and Ethan Rayne's 'fingerprints' all over the glade." Xander was dimly aware of Willow sitting down next to him and passing him his mug of tea. He took a sip of the excessively sugary liquid and winced when it burned its way down his throat. He faced Giles, seeing purpling bruises fading on his face and wondering why he had failed to notice them before.

Giles's face was taut with the effort to control.

Xander leaned forward. "Something you want to tell us, G-man?" he asked softly.

Giles told them. His mug of too-sugary tea forgotten in his hands except perhaps to warm him, he looked from Xander's eyes to Willow's and back again and told them of what he had found when Ethan had turned up on his door that one morning, not too long ago.

"After the massacre and Adam's death, the Initiative just fell apart," he said, his voice quiet. "Ethan had been held by them the entire time – more than six months in a cell in the middle of the desert. They'd… they'd kept him sedated – they had to, really, for their own safety." He smiled involuntarily, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. "He was – is – powerful. Frighteningly so. Given the chance to cast a spell, he could have destroyed that entire facility."

Xander did not doubt for a moment that Giles had been like that too at one time. That he was strong he already knew; that he could be ruthless, violent, frightening… he wondered how he had never noticed it before. Probably because that anger had never been directed at him. It still wasn't. What made this so different? Unbidden, the image of Ethan's hands clasped loosely around Giles's neck returned to him.

Ah, yes. That made it different. Ethan had not been a threat.

"He… he turned up on my doorstep. He just looked so helpless. So completely unlike himself. He said that they'd hurt him –" There was the slightest stress on that, as if Giles was worried that they might assume a smack on the wrist rather than the torture that had undoubtedly taken place. "I - I – I –" Giles took a nervous breath and tried again. Xander had not heard him stutter in years. "I saw his scars. There were… a lot of them."

Xander did not doubt this. And yet somehow his mind decided to torture him with the image of Ethan 'showing Giles his scars' in a much more intimate way… and Giles fussing over him, making sure that he was okay in precisely the same manner that he had seen Giles behave over Buffy when she was injured.

For some reason the analogy did not sit well with Xander. It wasn't that Giles didn't care for Ethan; Xander was of the opinion that you just didn't do that with someone unless History was involved. It wasn't that. He just couldn't picture Giles looking at Buffy with that mixture of longing and agonised contempt. Oh, yeah, he thought. History.

"And so scars leads to spells? Why didn't Ethan fix himself, if he's that strong?" Willow, keeping her wits about her. Xander was grateful; he was still trying to cope with various unwanted mental images.

Giles shook his head. "It's a difficult spell. He needed another sorcerer to complete it – especially since he needed to augment the spell. Otherwise, he'd have staved off his deterioration for a little while, that's all. He needed to be regenerated – a little energy from someone else. He needed me for that."

"And you obliged," Xander said, feeling a little light-headed with disbelief. And then, the big question. "Why?"

Giles simply looked at him and said nothing at all. And Xander got it.

He finally put together the bruises on Ethan's body, so loving applied, with the restless energy Giles seemed to thrive off after one of Ethan's visits. He thought about the Giles he knew and the Giles he had seen at the glade, and he thought about what 'his' Giles would think of the violence the other Giles seemed to find so appealing.

And he found himself wondering why Giles's nickname had been 'Ripper'.

"I hurt him," Giles said, his voice barely above a whisper. "When we were young, and again when I handed him over to the Initiative. If I had done what he'd done, he'd have… I don't know. Played a prank. Hit me. Something. Not just hand me over to them…" He ran out of words but that was all right because no more were needed.

Giles smelled of guilt and of sex and of need that could not be defined or denied. He smelled of Low Magic or whatever it was that he had done with Ethan in that clearing. Xander shuddered because all of a sudden he could see what had happened in the clearing after the point he and Willow had stopped watching. He could see Ethan, exhausted, sated and healing, reaching for Giles in thanks – perhaps to ask about this all-important and thrice-damned Banishing – and Giles, angry, furious at himself and at his need and weakness, lashing out. He could see kind, gentle Giles kicking Ethan's too-thin chest in the memory of splintered ribs. He saw Giles look down at the broken body of the man he had helped heal only minutes previously and double over, retching. He could see him take off, barely pausing to make sure that Ethan was still alive. And he could see him returning to the glade a few hours later to make sure that Ethan had been healed enough to get back on his feet and leave town.

He saw it all, and it frightened him beyond words because he knew this man. He had known this man since he was a child, barely sixteen, all ready to take on the world. He had known this man when he was alone and frightened of everything, including his exams. He had known this man, and had never known him for what he had been. For what he could still be, and tried ever so desperately to tame.

He understood suddenly why Giles disliked Angel so, and it was more than the torture Angel had inflicted on him during his brief stint as Angelus. It had to be.

Xander had learned to trust Angel eventually, in most matters except those concerning Buffy. Could he re-learn to do the same for Giles, when he had already been this close to the man? When he himself wasn't a frightened child anymore?

His mind curled over the thought of Ethan as 'victim'. It somehow didn't suit him at all. A willing participant, then. He had certainly initiated the sex. So who was he to judge what kind of relationship Ethan had with Giles? They were both grown men. And if they chose to pound each other into the ground, what could he say to that?

"Is… is Ethan alive?" Willow again, talking when Xander could not. He glanced over at her and wondered at her unconditional acceptance of this. Then again, wasn't that how Willow had always been? Always, always, always accepting, whether it was a spirit looking for vengeance against genocide committed against his people or a vampire looking for redemption or sex with a werewolf. And Xander had learned to deal with thoughts like that too. Anya had done some terrible things in her past. He'd dealt with some of that and wondered at the thought of 'love', as opposed to 'like' or even 'prefer'. Surely Xander could deal with this as well.

Surely.

The image of long pale fingers curled over a black stone returned to him and made the corners of his mouth turn downwards in distress.

"Yes. Yes, he's alive. And leaving Sunnydale – for good, he says, although I cannot trust his word on that." He hesitated. "I just… didn't want him around. He turns me into someone I thought I outgrew. Someone I loathe."

Xander could see what it had cost Giles to admit this to him. Willow evidently could as well.

"I know – at least, I think I do. But that's over now, Giles. I know what you two did to each other –" here Giles flashed her a fierce, angry and certainly unrepentant look that Willow missed completely, "—but that's over now. You're not him anymore."

Willow certainly believed that, it was obvious, but Xander did not and he did not think that Giles did either. If there was no trace of Ripper left in him, who had done those things in the glade? Xander found himself looking for bruises along Giles's jaw line again and forcefully made himself stop.

It was evident that Giles himself was having similar thoughts. He bowed his head.

Willow reached out a hand tentatively and laid it on his arm, stroking comfort. "It's okay." He shook his head, and she persisted. "It's okay. It really is, Giles. We've all done horrible things. I…" She couldn't look at him for this. "I nearly cast a curse once," she said all in a rush, her cheeks flushing at the memory. Even though she had not gone through with the spell, it was evidently not a fond memory.

Giles looked at her, his expression bleak. "I tore a man in two once."

Xander, who had opened his mouth to confess his own sins, gagged instead. "Oh God. Oh God. What for?!"

The hand on Giles's arm fell away silently.

There was nothing for a long while, then, "I'm not going to tell you."

He would not look at them. Xander found himself not too displeased with that. He sipped his sugary tea in silence.

Willow broke the silence eventually. Of course. Of course that it would be calm, accepting Willow who would forgive Giles his past transgressions first. Of course she would be able to reach forgiveness while Xander was still struggling with whether it was really any of his business.

"I'm sorry. Perhaps I should not have told you that." Giles looked away, busying himself with picking imaginary lint off the fabric of his trousers. His entire body screamed despondence; he seemed ready for complete and utter rejection.

And again... Xander wasn't too sure about that. Okay, it had been a risk telling them. They were (relatively) young, and (relatively) innocent to the more, um, kinky ways of the world. Still. Both had known acceptance and could find it in themselves, and Buffy… well. Buffy certainly would.

And even if she wouldn't… Xander wasn't sure if she needed Giles anymore. If she needed any of them. Did Giles need her? Just what had he been spending his time doing after he had been fired?

Well, the answer to that, at least, was obvious. But were magic, sex and Ethan Rayne really the way to go?

"I don't know, Giles," Xander said slowly, putting his mug of tea down on the table. "Maybe you shouldn't have."

Giles looked at him then, a quick flicker of disbelief and hurt. Yes, he had been expecting rejection, but it still hurt when it arrived.

"I'm not sure how exactly I'm going to deal with all this. But…" The quick flash of teeth on a collarbone, biting down while someone moaned something unspeakable far, far away… Xander thrust the image aside as quickly as he could. He didn't need this. He didn't need to keep picturing this. He'd get home after this and tell Anya everything and then he would forget all about it. He hoped. "I wouldn't be surprised if we're best buds again inside of a week." If he was expected to forgive Angel, Xander reasoned, no one could begrudge him this. And he badly needed the 'real' Giles to be back. He hadn't realised that he was somehow still waiting for all of this to be over so he could sit down with Willow and Giles and Buffy and talk about it all over tea and donuts and possibly cookies. Right – no 'real' Giles for him to wait on. This was the real Giles.

He could deal. He could. He'd heard worse. Admittedly, it had been from people he had expected to have bloody and inglorious pasts, but he'd dealt with that. He just needed a little more time for this. Right?

Right.

The comment had earned him a surprised look, from both Willow and Giles. Xander sighed. Explanations. The one thing he really didn't want to have to give. And why was he the one explaining anything? "What, you were expecting screams and accusations with optional homophobic freak-outs on the side? I roomed with Spike. Nothing you can tell me can equal what he thought was good subject matter for bedtime stories. I'm still having nightmares about some of the things him and his psycho girlfriend did in Prague… and I don't even know where Prague is! That has to be wrong." Blank faces stared at him. He sighed again. "Sorry. Humour in the wrong place. Removing the humour and putting it away. See? Entirely humourless."

"I wouldn't say that," Giles said, his mouth twitching. And, sure enough, Willow's was doing the same. Giles cleared his throat. "I just… I'm sorry. I really didn't mean to tell you all of that stuff. Okay, so other people may have done worse, but that doesn't mean that it's acceptable."

"It's not," Willow cut in. "But I'm fairly certain that proper remorse necessitates forgiveness from all parties… especially from people, you know, that didn't lose relatives or fish."

"Fish?" Xander said then caught himself. "Oh, yeah. Fish." He shifted uncomfortably, painfully aware that if ever there was a time to confess his sins and be given absolution by his friends it was now. He sighed privately. Not now. Not yet. Not when things really hadn't been that affected by what he did… yeah. He could keep telling himself that, right?

Of course he could. He'd managed for the last two years just fine. But…

Something he was forgetting. "Oh! And Ethan?" That's right. Stick to the point. He could figure all of this out later when he didn't feel that he was going to be called on the carpet, or whatever this was, every time he refused to act like a neo-Nazi and run around screaming about 'deviant' lifestyles.

Giles stood abruptly. "Gone. For good, hopefully." He raised an eyebrow quizzically; he obviously recalled saying something to that effect just a few minutes before The Big Bombshell.

Yes, Xander decided. That was how he would treat the revelation that Giles really hadn't been that nice a guy when he was younger. As The Big Bombshell. Right up there with 'Angelus occasionally killed more than fish'. "Yeah, you said that already. I was talking about deep philosophical stuff."

"Such as?"

He couldn't help it. "When were you gonna tell us you were boning him?"

Willow reached over and smacked him soundly – "ow!" – at the same time as Giles stared at him in absolute horror of being 'found out', mouth gaping open comically.

"Xander! I can't believe you just said that!"

"Neither can I, actually," Giles had gone several shades paler. "Um, how did you – do you –"

Backtracking would be good, Willow's eyes informed the still-being-smacked Xander and he swatted her back to show he understood. "Oh. Well. It's obvious. Wasn't it obvious?" He looked to Willow for support.

She stopped glaring at him for long enough to say, "oh, absolutely. Obvious. And we're supportive. Very. Aren't we?" Another glare.

"Very," Xander squeaked. He coughed and tried again. "Uh. Very. Yes. Hey, I'm having sex with an ex-vengeance demon; who am I to tell you who to be orgasm buddies with." He did his best Anya-face.

"Anya's rubbing off on you," Giles said without the slightest indication that it had been meant as anything less than an insult.

Xander felt a little put out at this but overlooked it. After all, if someone else had dug up some of his secrets and presented them to him in broad daylight… he shuddered.

"It's okay." Willow, being conciliatory again. She coaxed Giles back on to the couch. "It's okay. It's in your past, and even if it wasn't and you still likedEthaninthatway," she managed all in a rush, "we'd still be very supportive. Everyone's been very supportive of me, and…."

Giles blinked at her. "I don't need a support group, Willow," he said kindly but firmly. "I'm old enough to accept myself and not apologise." He winced, catching the contradiction. "Except for the parts of me that I refuse to talk about and dread, of course."

"Of course," Willow echoed, a trace of a smile still on a face. She shot Xander a look then leaned in impulsively, kissing Giles's cheek quickly but very firmly indeed.

"What was that for?" Surprised look, and a hand against his cheek as if to savour the kiss.

"For you," she smiled. "Because you're you. And because Xander is too 'macho' to do anything like that."

"Hey!" Xander protested. "That's not true. I can too." Both Willow and Giles regarded him with interest – to be truthful, Giles's expression was one of mild horror rather than of any interest whatsoever – and he sighed, defeated. "Okay. So I can't. It's not my fault; it's a guy thing!"

Willow looked to Giles for confirmation.

He nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid so. We shake hands."

She scrambled into his lap to hug him possessively. "Well, I don't."

Xander put his mug of tea down so he could punch Giles in a manly fashion. Giles didn't look overly pleased at being punched but caught the gist of the gesture and smiled his thanks at Xander, who was suddenly very glad that the Willow in Giles's lap prevented him from punching back. He wouldn't, anyway. Would he?

"You okay?"

The question wasn't directed at him, but to Giles. Again. Because he had removed Willow from his lap with the air of some one who had things to do.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

Bullshit, Xander thought. He was entirely certain that Giles just appreciated the gloss over the wound and wanted them gone for the time being so he could brood in peace. He probably did that almost as well as Angel, he thought, and smirked inwardly.

Well. It wasn't their place to interfere any more. Now, one last thing –

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this conversation to Buffy," Giles's eyes were shadowed again. "Any of it. Some of it she already knows, but… she has too much to deal with right now as it is. She doesn't need anything more."

Willow nodded automatically; Xander had to think about it for a moment. On the one hand, Buffy had a right to know. On the other, it wasn't his place to tell her. Well, that was easy enough. "Sure," he nodded then stood. "We'll be silent as mice. Silenter! Is that a word?"

Willow stood and pushed him towards the door. "We'll be quiet, Giles. And we'll vamoose and let you work as well."

Giles nodded his appreciation.

At the door Willow timidly turned back. "Do you… do you think that Ethan will be back?"

There was a long pause. Xander turned back too, just in time to see Giles smile. He had thought that he had seen him smile before, but it wasn't anything like this. This smile lit up the room.

"I hope so," Giles said. "I miss him."

It was astonishing to Xander that Giles would admit that much to him, especially considering all that he had already admitted. Nonetheless he couldn't quite clamp down on the question fast enough. "Even though he reminds you of things you'd rather forget?"

Giles smiled again and somehow looked all of twenty years old. "Especially because of that."

Xander could find nothing to say to that in response that would not involve him beating himself about it later. Instead, he took his leave silently. As the door closed behind him and Willow, he let out the breath he had been holding.

"Do you think he'll be okay?" Willow, at his sleeve.

Xander blinked and once more saw that smirk, the sweet relish of violence that Giles normally tried so hard to repress. It had not been locked up like it was normally; that was not a Giles he had thought himself familiar with. Wasn't that the point? "I think he can take care of himself."

fin

TITLE COMES FROM:

"Partir c'est mourir un peu,

C'est mourir à ce qu'on aime:

On laisse un peu de soi-même

En toute heure et dans tout lieu."

Translation:

"To go away is to die a little,

It is to die to that which one loves:

Everywhere and always,

One leaves behind a part of oneself."

Edmond Haraucourt (1856-1941),

Extract from the poem "Seul" (1891).


End file.
